


The Elementalist

by sinnerman



Series: Winds of Change [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-17 17:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/179072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnerman/pseuds/sinnerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you absolutely, positively have to kill all the Darkspawn, you're going to need a mage.  Preferably one with a really big Fireball.  The question is, what does the mage need for motivation?  The story of an elf who became a Grey Warden who became a hero - and somehow, ended up falling in love with an assassin.  Thedas is a very strange world, sometimes.  (Please note: the chapter that involves the warning tag will be labeled appropriately.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Demons, pt.1

"That's 'im, m'lord.  That's the boy what lived at Sutter's farm afore it burned down," whispered the peasant.  His voice was thick with hate.

The Templar's horse moved restlessly as his master watched the little elven boy playing in the mud.  "Beaux yeux," murmured the Templar softly.  "Not evil ones."

"Serrah?"

"Return to the chantry," commanded the Templar.  "You will be paid."  He dismounted, and gave his horse to his companion to hold.  He casually walked up to the small boy who was avidly making little figures out of mud the way any child would.  The difference was that this small boy was also making fire from his hands to dry the little figures into clumsy little statues that he could play with.  The Templar regarded the little boy curiously.  The elven child's hair was unnaturally white, as if all the color had been leached away.  In contrast, his eyes were black as a starless night.  The child also had sacred markings on his little face, showing that he descended from someone who had stood by Andraste herself.

The boy finally noticed him and looked at the Templar, curious and fearless.  "Hewwo!"

With a gentle smile, the Templar knelt down next to the child.  "Hello.  Why aren't you in school yet?" said the Templar chidingly.  "I'm sure your parents know that you ought to be in the Tower by now."

Innocently, the little boy answered, "Mommy says I'm not old enough yet."

The Templar shook his head.  "I think you are.  Where is your Mommy?  I'm going to have a talk with her."

"You're not mad at Mommy, are you?" asked the little boy, suddenly worried.

The Templar laughed reassuringly.  "No, I'm not angry.  I just think you need to go to school sooner rather than later."  He stood up.  "Today would be good," he murmured under his breath.  "Beaux yeux, but too much power."

An elf staggering under a load of laundry walked out of the farmhouse towards the clotheslines where the little boy was playing.  The Templar raised an appreciative eyebrow at the trim slenderness of her form and her graceful walk, and he rushed forward to take the basket from her before she tripped over a loose stone.  "Oh, thank you," she said, then stopped in terror when she saw the plate-mail clad man standing there.

"De rien," he said comfortingly.  "I mean you no harm, but I must talk to you about your son."  He looked her over, making no effort to hide the look in his eyes.

The little boy ran up to his mother and hid behind her scanty skirts, looking nervously at the strange but friendly man.

"Pardon, serrah, if I have done wrong, but he is so young – is it really necessary?"  She clasped her hands nervously over her shapely breasts, her fingers fluttering like a small bird in a cage.

The Templar nodded.  "It will not be as bad as you think.  He will be taught well, and given everything that he needs."

"Will there be books?" asked the little boy eagerly.

"Indeed, there are books.  A huge room filled with them, as far as the eye can see.  Do you know how to read?" asked the Templar.

The boy nodded eagerly.  "I love books!"  He looked up at his mother, who still looked nervous and uncertain.

"But I cannot go, can I?  I can never see him again," she said despairingly.

"Not under normal circumstances," said the Templar kindly.  "But don't worry," he said softly, "I will not leave you to find your own way.  I'm sure something can be arranged."

"You are too kind, serrah," she said shyly.

It was the last time he heard his mother speak.  The Templar had taken him to the tower that very day, and then returned to the farm to find her before he returned to Orlais, and she had gone with him.  The last sight he had of her was from the window in his room, watching her as she rode away on a spirited white mare.  She waved gaily to him, looking beautiful in her new gowns, comfortable and secure as the newest member of the noble Templar's retinue.

 

The First Enchanter sighed in despair at the destruction in the room.  "Well, at least the test was successful.  You may go," he nodded to his apprentice.

"Sorry, sir," he said, but his voice held not a trace of regret.  He put his staff away, and left the room, brushing past the Tranquil servants who were coming to clean up the mess.

Irving held a hand to his forehead as he heard the familiar armored steps of the Knight-Commander.  "Greagoir.  What brings you here?"

"What do you think, Irving?  Maker's Breath!"  Greagoir stared at the giant, smoking hole in the wall.  "Surana did that?  Irving, he's too dangerous," the Knight-Commander insisted.  "This can't go on.  Blood of Andraste – he cracked the wall behind it!"

The First Enchanter decided not to mention that his apprentice had also shattered all the protective shields in the room.  "And yet, for all his power, the boy has no darkness in him.  Just an irritating arrogance and a strangely solitary nature.  Let him take his Harrowing, Greagoir."

"And then what?" the Knight-Commander demanded.  "Then what are you going to do with the most powerful mage we've ever seen outside of Tevinter?  Keep him here?  It's like keeping a lion in a box of kittens!"

Irving cringed.  "Please, don't mention kittens.  Not today," he rubbed his temples again, thinking of Uldred and other allergic residents of the tower.  "If he passes his Harrowing, then we can decide how best he can serve the Circle in the future.  There is always the chance that he will fail."

Greagoir looked at his friend.  "You don't actually believe that, do you?

"No," said Irving sadly.  "I fear greatly that he will pass and be even more insufferable."

Greagoir gave a rare chuckle.  "Is that actually possible?"

 

"What was that noise just now?  Were you doing something, Surana?"

"Magic," he answered shortly.

"Why are you always so stuck-up, Surana?"

He turned on the speaker, one of the other students in his class, but Jowan rushed up before he could speak and pulled him away.

"Can you go one day without getting into a fight?  Have you ever tried it?" grinned Jowan.

He frowned at Jowan.  "Why are you always trying to be my friend?  Don't you have anything better to do?"  He walked towards the library, pretending not to care whether Jowan followed him or not.

"You're welcome," sighed the human mage.  "No, really, why are you always fighting?  Why don't you just try to get along with people?"

"Because they're stupid and annoying," he snapped.  "And most of them smell funny."

Jowan rolled his eyes.  "You're always so angry."  He sniffed himself.  "Do I smell funny?"

"No."  They entered the library and sat down at the secluded little table that everyone knew was his favorite spot.  In consequence, there was no one in that section of the library and no one even looked in their direction.  The elven mage was rather infamous for his short temper and excellent aim.

"Did I tell you about that girl I met?" said Jowan excitedly.

He pulled a book out of his bag and started to read, hoping that Jowan would take the hint.  "Not this again."

"Well, we went to that empty storeroom," Jowan began.

"You're not going to stop, are you?"  He idly flipped the pages of the herbalism text, and sighed as Jowan continued graphically describing what he had done with his purported girlfriend.  At one point, the story actually did get interesting, and he looked up at Jowan, but took care to rest his head on one hand and look as bored as possible.

"She moved her skirts out of the way, and put her legs around my waist so I was totally holding her up against the wall," Jowan whispered eagerly.

He'd never had sex with anyone.  The Templars knew better than to try and force him, and he couldn't get past how abysmally stupid his classmates were, so he'd never gone after any of them.  And being the First Enchanter's apprentice meant all the instructors were off-limits.  For the most part, he didn't feel like he was really missing anything.  On the other hand, hearing about Jowan's adventures with his unnamed companion made him wonder what it would be like.

He looked down when Jowan got to the part where his girlfriend had let him all the way inside, and tried not to blush.  He frowned slightly as he noticed the scars on Jowan's hands.  The number of tiny scars on Jowan's hands and wrists had increased lately, but Jowan never mentioned it.  Jowan was doing his apprenticeship with Uldred, one of the Senior Enchanters.  He didn't trust Uldred.  There was something essentially false and wrong about Uldred.

"And then I pulled out, and it started dripping down her legs – "

"Okay, enough," he cut Jowan off.

"Don't make that face, it's really sexy," Jowan grinned.  "You'll have to see for yourself."

He shook his head.  "Maybe later.  Don't you have 'Herbalism for People Who Actually Do Their Coursework' in a few minutes?"

"Oh, right!  Well, thanks for listening to me!"

"Like I had a choice," he muttered under his breath.

"And don't get into any more fights!"  Jowan grabbed his bag and ran out of the library.

"Don't tell me what to do," he muttered, more for the benefit of his ego than any real complaint.  He bent down to pull out a different book from his bag, and noticed something glinting on the floor where Jowan's bag had been.  He ducked under the table to get a closer look.  It was a small, sharpened piece of metal, stained with blood.  He stared at it for a moment, then quickly picked it up using a scrap of cloth torn from his robe so that he wouldn't have to touch it with his bare hands.  "What are you up to, Jowan?" he said softly.  He stared at the piece of metal, and decided to show it to the First Enchanter.


	2. True Tests Never End

The Spirit of Rage swirled up in front of him.  "And what will you do now, pathetic dreamer?  Your fire will not harm me!"

He smiled wryly.  "Do people actually take your offers?  You're even stupider than my classmates."  He focused his energy, and threw another bolt of fire at the demon.  It was true, the fire was not as effective it should have been.  But the demon wasn't completely immune, and he was standing in front of a vein of lyrium.  "I can do this all day."  The demon screamed in surprised pain as the bolt ripped through its defenses.  "But this won't take me all day.  Besides, I could just cheat, if I wanted to."  He reached out in his mind, touching the other elements that he knew were there, and summoned an icy cage to hold the demon still while Mouse, in his bear form, furiously attacked the frozen demon.  He leaned on his staff as the demon burned away, screaming furiously the entire time.  "That was… much less than I expected."

Mouse turned back into the ghostly form of a student.  "You did it!  You actually did it!"

He looked at the Fade projection, but didn't interrupt.

"I never actually thought that you – that was amazing!  I can't believe it!"

"Your flattery is unnecessary," he said sharply.  "So, you don't offer to help everyone who comes here, I take it?  It sounded like your offer to me was – unusual."

Mouse chuckled nervously.  "Well, not everyone has the same potential that you do.  And this isn't always the same, I'm not always here.  It was a long time ago."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to voice his obvious disbelief.

"Does it really matter?" asked Mouse impatiently.  "Look, I helped you, and now, maybe, you can help me.  It's just a little favor," he said hopefully.  "After all, you defeated a demon!  You've completed your test.  With time, you will become even more powerful, a Master Enchanter with no equal.  You know this, don't you?  Surely, there's some hope in that for someone as small and forgotten as me," said Mouse gently.  "If you were willing to help, there may be a way for me to leave here."  When he didn't speak, Mouse went on.  "I just need to get a sort of foothold, outside.  All you have to do – "

"You can't possibly think I'm that stupid," he said impatiently.  "Do you really think I can't figure out what the real test is?"

Mouse leaned forward, the human projection towering over the slight form of the elven mage.  "Aren't you worried that they'll hold you back?  That they'll kill you to keep you here, like they did to me?  Don't you fear the touch of the sword at your neck while your spirit is out here, wandering?  You know how much they fear your power.  They believe all magic is evil, and that means you, too.  Now that you've come here, you've become everything they fear most."

"Oh, just go away.  I'm not going to fall for it.  You were never really an apprentice, and you were never killed by the Templars."

Mouse chuckled and crossed his arms.  "Hmm.  Maybe they are right about you," he said, and his projection began growing at a slightly alarming rate as his voice shifted timbre and pitch, becoming darker and deeper.  "You are dangerous.  But know this, dreamer – simple killing is a warrior's job.  The things that attack you are not the real dangers of the Fade.  The real dangers here are the things you bring with you."  Mouse's form continued to grow and began to shift as well, but for some reason he couldn't see what was right before him.  "Keep your wits about you, mage.  They are your best weapon.  And remember – true tests never end."

With a violent jolt, he was back in his own body, seeing the real world instead of the world of magic.

"You're awake!"  Jowan sounded pleased, and for the first time, he realized that Jowan really did like him – just not enough to trust him with the truth.

"Yes, Jowan, I'm awake."  He sat up slowly.  He was back in his bed in the apprentice's quarters.  "How did I get back here?"

"The Templars brought you back and one of the Tranquil put you to bed.  I had no idea where you were, I just woke up and you were gone.  You were – you took your Harrowing, didn't you?"

He nodded slowly, and slid out of bed.  He felt oddly tired.  "I guess I passed, then.  I'm not dead.  And I still want to kill Merky for snoring like a bent nug, so I'm obviously not Tranquil."

Jowan tried to smile, but he was clearly disturbed by something that he didn't want to talk about.  "So – what was it like?  Do you remember anything?"

"Don't ask me that, Jowan.  You know I can't tell you."

Jowan stared at the floor, not meeting his eyes.  "I wonder if I'll ever find out what it's like.  I don't think they're ever going to send me – I think they want to make Tranquil."  The horror in Jowan's voice was real, and he knew it.  "Look, the First Enchanter wants to talk to you.  That's actually what I came down here for, he says he wants to see you as soon as you wake up.  But after you talk to him, I need to talk to you."

He swallowed nervously, and hoped Jowan didn't realize it.  "All right.  I'll find you after I see whatever it is the First Enchanter wants."

"Thank you.  It means a lot to me," smiled Jowan.

He nodded, and left the room.  He felt vaguely ill, and it wasn't from being in the Fade for so long.  He stopped in the library on the way to the First Enchanter's office.  He didn't feel up to talking seriously just yet.

"You're in my light."

"Sorry, Eadric."  He moved away so that the plump little elf could continue working.  "What are you reading?"

"I'm researching the history of our people," smiled Eadric.  "So much has been lost, and we can never hope to recover it all.  Did you know your name is in here?  Well, your family name, anyway.  One of your ancestors stood with Andraste, and look, the human historian actually bothered to write it down."

He grinned wryly.  "He saved her life, they have to at least mention it in passing.  Much as they like to pretend we don't exist."

Eadric nodded.  "I heard you almost got into it with Fabian the other day.  It's too bad Jowan stopped it.  That pig deserves to get slapped down."

"He hasn't been bothering you, has he?"

"No," Eadric laughed, "he's too cowardly to stand up to me directly.  Just a lot of whispering behind your back and mine.  He'll give it up now that you've passed your Harrowing.  Congratulations on that, by the way.  One more of our people in the ranks makes it easier for the rest of us."

He nodded in agreement.  "Well, let me know if anyone is bothering you, and I'll put them in their place."

"Beneath your heel," grinned Eadric happily.

"You're so bloodthirsty," he grinned.

"I learned from the best," said Eadric cheerfully.  "Well, you probably shouldn't keep the First Enchanter waiting.  I'll see you around, brother!"

He nodded and left the library.  Talking to Eadric was always refreshing.  Eadric was like the little brother he'd never had.  He walked down to the First Enchanter's office, and paused outside when he realized that Irving had visitors.  He sighed in irritation, and walked back to the chapel to wait for the guests to leave.

He saw Jowan walking quickly out of the room, but there wasn't anyone in the chapel besides an initiate and Keili the Whiner, who was praying as usual.  He rolled his eyes, but decided not to taunt her today.

"Congratulations on completing your Harrowing," smiled the initiate.  "Andraste must have smiled upon you."  She was everything that humans considered pretty, and well-endowed with wide hips and large breasts.  He wondered why she was wasting herself on the Chantry instead of settling down and having a brood of children.

"Thank you," he muttered politely, and walked away to leave her to her duties before she could start any more conversation.  For some reason, human women considered him attractive and always wanted to cuddle him as if he were a soft toy.  He touched some of the books in the chapel, and stared up at the statue of Andraste.  For that matter, why hadn't she settled down and had god-babies instead of starting a war and founding her own religion?  He supposed, under the circumstances, he would also have gone for power rather than love.  He shrugged, and walked back to the First Enchanter's office.  Maybe the guests were gone now.

The Knight-Commander was in Irving's office, and it sounded like they were bickering as usual.  "No, Irving, too many have already gone to Ostagar.  Most of the Senior Mages have gone – Wynne, Uldred – every one of them takes another Templar out of the tower!  We've already committed enough of our own to this war effort," said Greagoir fiercely.

"Oh, poor Greagoir.  It must be so tiring balancing the needs of keeping us all under Chantry supervision, what with keeping harmless children locked up at the same time as trailing after mages out where they can actually use their Maker-given powers."

"Irving, do not start –"

"Gentlemen, please," interrupted a strange voice.  "Irving, I believe someone is here to see you."  The speaker was a human, dark-skinned with piercing eyes and a thick beard.  The man wore armor but carried two large blades, rather than a typical sword and shield.  He looked strangely competent, the kind of man who could deal with any situation, including an angry Templar and an irritated mage.

"First Enchanter."  He bowed to his teacher, then to the Knight-Commander and the stranger.

"Ah, there you are.  Come, child – ah, but you are a child no longer.  You are our newest brother in the Circle.  Let me introduce you," smiled Irving.

The stranger walked forward, carefully looking him over.  "This is – "

"Yes," smiled Irving proudly.  "This is he."

"You're obviously busy," said Greagoir.  "I'll leave you to this discussion, Irving.  We can continue our talk later."  The Knight-Commander bowed, and left the room.

"Of course," said Irving absently.  "Now, where was I?  Ah, yes, this is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens."

He looked at the stranger in surprise.  "A Grey Warden?  In the tower?"

Irving nodded.  "With the war brewing to the south, Duncan is recruiting mages to join the King's army at Ostagar."

He looked at the Grey Warden in surprise.  "Mages?  To fight against the darkspawn?"

Duncan nodded.  "Magic is one of our greatest weapons against the darkspawn horde.  The horde is gathering in the Kocari Wilds, and threatens the valleys to the north.  If we do not drive them back, we may find ourselves facing another Blight."

"And you need mages to help," he said slowly, looking from Duncan to Irving.

"Indeed," smiled Irving.  "But, we can discuss this later.  Right now, we must celebrate this momentous occasion.  The Harrowing is behind you, and you are officially a mage within the Circle of Magi," said the First Enchanter as he handed him a new staff and robes.  "Your belongings have been moved to the mage's quarters, and your phylactery has been sent to Denerim."

"Ah, it's good to know my leash is still intact," he grinned wryly.

"I'm sorry," interrupted Duncan, "what is this phylactery?"

"Blood is taken from all apprentices when they first come to the tower," Irving explained.  "It is preserved in special vials."

"So they can be hunted if they turn apostate," said Duncan disapprovingly.

He raised an eyebrow.  Most people were relieved to find out that it was so easy to keep track of mages.

Irving crossed his arms.  "We have few choices.  The gift of magic is looked upon with great suspicion, and fear."  The First Enchanter glanced quickly at his student.  "We must prove that we are strong enough to handle our power responsibly.  Now then," Irving sighed, "the day is yours.  You may take time to rest, or study.  But first, may I ask you to escort our guest back to his chambers?"

He nodded politely.  He knew that Irving wanted him to talk to Duncan.  Perhaps he would even be asked to join the Grey Wardens, instead of remaining as a disruptive influence in the tower.  He considered the prospect as he walked, chatting politely with Duncan about the war brewing in the south and the darkspawn threat.

By the time they had reached the guest quarters, he had made up his mind: He wanted to be a Grey Warden.


	3. A Noble King

"Do all humans really look alike, or is it just me?" he muttered under his breath as he walked up the stairs.  He paused to listen to the grinning human tease the mage, and watched the mage stalk away.

"You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," grinned the human.

He blinked.  "You're a very strange man.  Even for a human."

"I get that a lot," he laughed.  The human cheerfully held out his hand.  "Have we met?  I'm Alistair."

He shook hands silently with Alistair.  The human's hand was firm and strong, friendly and warm, and the human didn't try to show off his superior strength.  Alistair didn't seem to notice - or perhaps, he just wasn't acknowledging - anything different about him.

"So, you're a mage?  I thought I'd met all the Circle mages here.  Are you new?"

"Duncan asked me to find you," he said, still a little bit confused by Alistair's unbending politeness.

"Oh!  I know, you must be the new prospect.  They were talking about you," Alistair looked him over, as if assessing not his looks or his race, but his ability to fight.  Nothing more.  "I've totally forgotten your name.  Tara- something."

"Surana.  Taratihel Surana."

"Taratihel," Alistair exclaimed, pronouncing it correctly on the first try.  "That was it.  Have you met Jory and Daveth?"

He nodded slowly, completely unsure of how to deal with this very, very unusual human.  Most humans couldn't say his name correctly, and wouldn't even try.  "I found them already."

"Right then," said Alistair cheerfully.  "I guess we should all go talk to Duncan.  What do you go by?  Tara?"

"Surana," he said sharply.

"What?  That sounds so formal," laughed Alistair.  "I'm not going to go around barking your last name all the time.  Maybe in front of Duncan when we're pretending to be serious."  Alistair chuckled, as if the idea of acting like a grown-up was too ridiculous to contemplate.  "Let's go get this over with."  Alistair started explaining about the Joining as they walked back through the camp, together.  In fact, Alistair made a point of walking side by side with him, pacing his steps so that the smaller elf wouldn't have to scurry to keep up with him.

"So, what were you arguing with that mage about?"

Alistair blushed.  "Well, I was just delivering a message.  It just gets awkward, sometimes.  I used to - well, I was supposed to be a Templar."

"You?  Sorry, not to be rude, but - "

"Oh, no, I completely agree with you," Alistair grinned.  "I'd make a terrible Templar.  I wasn't any good at it when I was training.  Except for the swinging a sword part.  It turns out, I'm actually quite good at that bit.  The rest of it - not so much."

"So, how did you become a Grey Warden?" Tara asked curiously.

"You first," smiled Alistair.  "I mean, you were in the Circle, and passed your Harrowing, right?  Did you want to become a Grey Warden?"

Tara thought about it for a second.  "I hadn't thought it about before, but - yes.  I do.  I mean, I'm glad Duncan brought me here."  He looked curiously at Alistair.  "Why?"

Alistair smiled, welcoming and understanding.  "I was pretty much the same.  I never thought of doing anything else, but the instant I saw the chance, I jumped for it.  Duncan saw I wasn't happy, figured my training could be of use against the darkspawn, and here I am, a happy, contented Grey Warden."

"Instead of a drooling lunatic with a Sword of Mercy."

Alistair laughed.  "You know, I'd be offended by that if it wasn't so eerily true."  He shuddered.

"So, Duncan saved your life as much as he did mine."

Alistair looked at him, and smiled, the way one smiles at an old friend.  "Exactly."

Oddly, Tara couldn't find it in his heart to tell this strange person that they weren't friends, and that they barely knew each other.  Because he felt like he'd known this grinning warrior all his life, and he knew that he could trust him with his life.  He didn't know how he knew it, he just did.

 

"Well, we've come a long way, let's set up camp here," suggested Alistair.

"Why can't we just keep going?"

"Listen, mage, you might be able to see in the dark and go for days without food, but the rest of us need to sleep," snapped Jory.

Tara muttered something unflattering under his breath, and walked over to a group of flowers and began examining them.

"Are you going to help set up camp?" asked Daveth, but Tara didn't answer.  "Yeah, I'll just get this, then."

Alistair tried not to smile, and helped lay out the fire while Jory and Daveth set out the bedrolls and the rations.  Tara sat down by the water, carefully examining the various plants they had picked up in the Wilds, and sketching them in a botanist's journal.  Without asking, Alistair set food and drink next to him, and Tara ate his meal without ever looking up or acknowledging his companions.

"You can do the cleanup," grunted Jory, and started for his bedroll.

"I can't do dishes," said Tara absently, as if not really listening.  "Or clean the camp.  I have a rare condition where my hands catch fire if exposed to dirt."

"What?"  Jory stared at him.  "Now you listen to me, -"

"Jory, I want you to picture in your tiny little mind all those things you see other elves do.  Now imagine yourself on fire every time you ask me to do any of them."  Tara's voice was soft, but his companions already knew how much power was in his slender elven hands.  "I do not clean.  I do not cook.  I do not bend over for bored humans.  But I will set you on fire and drag your smoking corpse back to Duncan if you ever talk to me like that again."

There was an almost uncomfortable silence in the camp, broken only by the noise of Daveth rinsing off the plates they had used.  Jory glared at the scout.

"What?" said Daveth, grinning.  "He has a rare condition.  I wasn't going to argue the point."

Alistair raised an eyebrow as Jory turned away and went to bed.  "That was... impressive.  I'll take first watch," he offered.  Daveth nodded and slid into his own bedroll.

"No need," said Tara, in the same bored voice he generally used.  "I don't need any sleep today."

"Oh, right.  Mage."  Alistair sat down, trying to think of how to phrase what he wanted to say.  "You know, it's generally not considered a good idea to threaten your companions."

"Why?" said Tara calmly.  "I can make it back to Ostagar alone.  What do I need them for?"

"Well, it's not polite, for one thing."  Alistair sighed.  "Look, just try to get along with them.  We're supposed to be working together."

Tara looked at Alistair, open scorn on his narrow face.  "I'm a mage.  I don't work with people.  I work around them.  All I ask is that they stay out of the way of my spells."

"But, see, you're more than a mage now.  You're going to be a Grey Warden.  And so will they.  You don't have to be friends with them, but you do have to understand that they're just as good as you, in their own way."

"Then they can prove it," snapped Tara.  "When that happens, I'll consider it."

Alistair sighed.  "I'm not really very good at this, am I?"

Tara smiled suddenly.  "You've gotten a lot farther than most people.  I'm just a jerk.  I know it," he shrugged.  "That's why I don't have any friends.  So, I'll stick with what I know: being ridiculously overpowered."

"You're not - well, yes you are," Alistair muttered.  "But you could be nicer to people."

"I don't know how, I'm a mage," Tara repeated.

"Right," Alistair agreed.  "Well, just do what I do."

Tara looked at him.

"Or not," Alistair grinned.  "Yeah, that probably wouldn't work for you.  Well, then, don't do what you would do."

"I don't want to be friends with – well, maybe you," muttered Tara quickly.

Alistair brightened.  "Fine, we'll be friends and we can band together against them!"

The elven mage looked up at the human warrior.  "You're serious?"

"Of course I am!"  Alistair held out his hand.

"Very well."  Tara placed his hand in Alistair's.  "Friends."


	4. Tomorrow Should Be No Different

"Seriously, this is the most disgusting thing I've ever touched.  And I'm a mage!"  Tara held up the vial of darkspawn blood.  "Look at it!  It's moving."

"Enough," said Alistair firmly, and carefully steered Tara away from Jory.  "You've made your point."

Tara grinned.  "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Give him another glass," laughed Daveth.  "This is fun."

Tara shook his head.  "No, no more.  I get very silly when I'm drunk, I don't like it."

Daveth walked back to the quartermaster for another glass of the sweet honey liquor.  "Last one, I promise."

"Noo," whined Tara, and Alistair led him away from the campfire.  "Where are we going?  You're not going to ravish me, are you?"

"What?  No," said Alistair in shock.  "Why would you think that?  I'm not - "

"Really?  I thought all humans were," said Tara in confusion.  "I can never tell.  You all look alike anyway," he muttered.  "I am so drunk.  Where are we going?"

"Away from Jory before he tries to kill you."

Tara laughed.  "Like that would work.  Oh, can we visit the Mabari?  They're soo cute."

Alistair stared at him.  "You are drunk.  I don't get this crazy when I'm drunk."

"This," Tara explained with the seriousness that only drunk people have, "is why I don't drink.  I say crazy things.  I want a pet rabbit."  Tara clapped his hands over his mouth, and blushed furiously.  "I need to stop talking.  Or I need to go somewhere where no one can hear me."

"Okay, this I have to hear," grinned Alistair.  "Why a rabbit?"

"Bunnies are cute!"  Tara blushed again.  "I am so drunk.  Why can't I stop talking?"  Someone pressed a cup into his hand, and he drank it without thinking.  It wasn't until Daveth snickered that he realized what he had done.

"So, tell us about the bunnies," said Daveth, and Tara somehow ended up lying on the ground, using a Mabari for a pillow while alternating between telling horror stories of spells gone wrong and talking about fuzzy animals, while Alistair and one of the other Wardens got into a drinking contest with an infantry unit.

"Have you seen a stray Mabari?"  The man, wearing the clothes of a retainer of some noble house, interrupted Tara's particularly gory tale of a miscalculated summoning to ask his question.

Tara looked at him in confusion.  "How would a Mabari stray?  They're always exactly where they want to be."

"They're also rather big," pointed out the scout who had been running a set of card games on the other side of the Mabari.  Tara had thought the scout belonged to the Mabari he was resting on, but now he wasn't sure.  "It's not like they just wander off and get lost."

The retainer sighed.  "One of my master's hounds is gone.  Has anyone seen a Mabari that doesn't belong to them?"

"Have you checked the kennels?" suggested the scout.  "Look at that, he was totally cheating," he said, turning over the cards in front of the Mabari.  "These aren't the cards I dealt him!"

"Is that your Mabari?" asked the retainer patiently.

"What Mabari?" said the scout innocently, and Tara snickered.

The retainer pointed at the warhound that Tara was resting on.  Tara waved.

"I'm a Grey Warden!  Recruit.  I can set you on fire!" he said cheerfully.

Daveth laughed.  "He really can, you know."

The retainer scurried away, and they all burst out laughing, prompting shouts for silence from the other campfires.  Apparently, the retainer stopped at the Grey Warden camp, as Duncan showed up a few minutes later with the exiled dwarven princess at his side, and another man that Tara couldn't see clearly.

"Where is Alistair?" asked Duncan, slightly concerned.

Tara pointed at the little house of cards that Daveth was building over Alistair's slumbering form, and Duncan sighed.

"Come, it's time for you all to retire for the night."  Duncan helped Tara to his feet, while the Lady Aeducan hoisted Alistair over her shoulders.  Duncan's presence helped Tara keep his tongue in check, instead of giving in to the urge to say something wildly inappropriate.

Tara looked over at the man helping the other Warden to his feet, and shook his head.  "They really do look alike," he murmured, but Duncan shushed him and led him away.  Tara sat down on his bedroll, and looked up at Duncan.  "But how?" demanded Tara.  "How did she open it, Duncan?  I thought you said only a Grey Warden could break the seal.  Spells don't die."

"Hush," said Duncan firmly.  "Go to sleep, young mage.  Seek the answers to your questions in the Fade, but not here."

"You sound like Irving," Tara grumbled, and flopped down to his bedroll.

 

"How much farther?" panted Bob, the tower guard who had joined them in their fight to the top of the Tower of Ishal.

"This should be the last floor," said Alistair.  He looked at Tara.  "Are you all right?"

Tara nodded.  "I'm fine," he tried to reassure Alistair.  He didn't want to confess that the constant spellcasting was starting to have an odd effect on him, and he was finding it harder and harder to escape the pull of the Fade.  "I'll be glad when this is all over," he smiled wanly.  "I'm looking forward to seeing you dance the Remigold."

Grinning, Alistair shook his head.  "Keep dreaming."

"Oh, look at that," said Herbert, the soldier who had also joined them.  "The center seems to be wavering, but the left - look at that, they're practically driving back the darkspawn on the left.  I thought the Grey Wardens were in the center?"

"On the left?"  Alistair joined Herbert at the window, and looked out.  "That's not Ser Landry, who is that leading them?"

Tara had to stand on his tiptoes to see out the window, but it was just a mass of indistinguishable color to him.  The only people he could see clearly were the mages on the right, protected by a wall of Templars.

"That's that Marcher scout, isn't it?" asked Bob.  "The one that unhorsed Ser Cauthrien in the mock jousts.  I recognize the horse."

"Oh, you're right, that is Hawke," mused Alistair.  "He's doing a damn fine job, but he's not supposed to be leading - what's happened to Ser Landry?"

"I don't know, but I think we should hurry," said Herbert.  "It looks like the darkspawn are getting reinforcements."

Tara turned away from the window.  This tower - this whole episode - disturbed him.  Something was deeply wrong here.  Why were the darkspawn in this tower at all?  "We should move on."  The Veil was thin in the Tower of Ishal, even before the darkspawn had slaughtered all of the guards that Loghain had sent here.  And just as it was in the Circle Tower, the Veil was so thin at the top that he could hear the echoes of the past with every step he took.

Bob pushed back the door leading to the central room on the top floor.  "The beacon was set up in - "

They all stopped, as did the monster taking up the center of the room.  The ogre raised its head slowly, blood and gore dripping from its mouth.  It tossed aside the body that it had been gnawing on, and growled slightly.

"Okay," said Alistair slowly.  "An ogre.  That's - that's different."

"How - how did it get up here?" asked Tara in shock.  "How did it fit up the stairs?"

"I think we should worry about that later," said Alistair, and drew his sword.

The ogre rose to its feet, and threw back its head as it roared a furious challenge.

Tara tried to freeze the ogre in place, but it threw the spell aside and charged directly at him.  Before Tara could move, Alistair was there, his shield up, breaking the ogre's charge as effectively as if the beast had run into a mountain.  Tara could see trails of mana streaming from Alistair, or perhaps going into him.  Tara shook his head and quickly moved out of the way so that Bob and Herbert could attack, trying to force himself to stay rooted in the real world.  He focused harder, and threw another bolt of ice at the ogre.

The instant he felt the spell leave him, he knew that he had made a mistake.  He had slipped too far into the Fade, and it wasn't his will driving the spell now.  What should have been a simple bolt of ice turned into a blizzard, the shards of ice ripping into the ogre's skin and throwing Bob and Herbert to the ground.

"What the – "

"Hey, watch it!"

Only Alistair was unharmed by the storm, and he took advantage of the blizzard's disorienting effect on the ogre to charge it himself, throwing all his weight behind his shield and driving the ogre backwards.  It stumbled heavily, slowed by the ice that had gathered on its dark hide, and toppled over.  The ice continued building, even as it fell, and before the ogre hit the ground, it was frozen completely solid.  Alistair took in the creature's predicament at a glance, and jumped on the ogre's body, bringing his sword down in a powerful swing that shattered the frozen ogre's head.

Tara sank to the floor and closed his eyes before anyone could turn to look at him.  He heard someone run over to him, and felt the touch of gentle, mail-clad hands on his shoulders.

"Are you all right?"  Alistair's voice drew him back to the real world faster than anything ever had before.

Tara nodded as best he could.  "The beacon," he said quickly.  "Before it's too late!"

"Right," said Alistair firmly.  "I'll take care of it, you just stay here."

Tara opened his eyes to watch Alistair run to one of the braziers that were scattered around the room, burning brightly and throwing eerie shadows.  "Why are the braziers still lit?" asked Tara in confusion.  They had seen the hole where the darkspawn had broken through the base of the tower, but that still didn't explain why there was an ogre here.  It would have had easier pickings on the lower floor, and left here alone with only one or two guards, surely it would have gone into a rage and knocked over the light-generating braziers?  Tara looked around in confusion.  "Something was controlling it – but – "

"No!" Alistair shouted in despair.  He had lit the beacon, and run to the window to see Loghain's forces save the day.  "You traitor!  No!"

Tara staggered to his feet again.  "Alistair – "

Alistair felt it at the same time – there were too many to be ignored.  "More darkspawn!"  The door burst from its hinges just as Tara made it to the other side of the room, safely behind Alistair and the others.  "This was all a trap, but how?"

"Why?" asked Tara softly.  "Why bother?"

The darkspawn swarmed into the room, roaring and snarling as they attacked.  Tara covered the room in fire, burning them alive, but still more came, charging over the bodies of the fallen to reach them.  Alistair forced him to move close to the wall, and Tara realized that Bob was gone.  Another wave came in and he saw Herbert get chopped in half.  Alistair moved so that he completely shielding Tara, and didn't try to attack anymore, but concentrated wholly on defending the mage behind him.

Something struck Alistair in the chest, and he fell over, nearly crushing Tara beneath him.  With a triumphant roar, the darkspawn rushed forward, only to freeze in terror at the sight of something in the window behind them.  With difficulty, Tara pushed Alistair's unconscious body far enough away so that he could sit up and try to see what had stopped the darkspawn.

He couldn't see anything, but whatever it was, it glowed with more magic than anything he had ever seen.  Pure magic.  Not corrupted and twisted like a darkspawn, not stifled and choked like a human or an elf.  Pure magic, pulsing the way raw lyrium did.

"Well, well, what have we here?" said an amused and very old woman's voice.  "A little doll!  How utterly delightful."  Her voice changed suddenly, and he realized that she was speaking directly to the darkspawn now.  "Begone.  You will interfere no further."  The darkspawn hesitated, and the woman's voice rose in fury.  "Defy me, will you?  Then pay the price!"

Tara watched with detached interest as was a wave of magic passed right over his head and turned into something that struck like stone and burned like fire, making the darkspawn scream wordlessly in terror as they died.  He looked down at himself and realized that he was bleeding heavily, and wondered idly if he was dying, and if that was why the world seemed so strange.

"No, no, my little doll," laughed the woman's voice, "you will not die.  I'll stitch you up and you'll be as good as new."  Something he couldn't see picked him by the waist, and in a panic, he reached out for Alistair.  "Calm down, I've got him too," she said soothingly.  Tara could hear the flap of giant wings, and stared at the giant black claws that reached down and gently lifted Alistair from the ground.  "A brave little soldier," she murmured.  "And a pretty little doll.  They should be more careful with their toys."


	5. Silk and Leather

"Well, that was fun.  I have a suggestion: let's never all go to the Fade together, ever again," suggested Alistair.

"Agreed," said Leliana fervently.  "I'm still not sure that I'm really awake."

"I could slap you," offered Morrigan.

"Girls, please," said Wynne wearily.

"What's that up ahead?" asked Alistair, looking farther down the road.  "Overturned wagons.  Looks like someone was attacked."

"Let's go check it out," commanded Tara.  "Sten, Wynne, you stay here with the wagon."

Bodhan pulled the wagon to a halt, and they ran up to the path, turning the corner to where the wagons lay scattered and broken.

"Oh, thank the maker," cried a woman as she ran up to them.  She looked like a common refugee.  She ran up panting, ignoring the streaks of blood on her clothes.  "Please, we need help!  They attacked the wagons, please help us!"  Before they could say anything, the woman turned and ran back towards the ruined convoy.

"Darkspawn?" asked Alistair in confusion.  He drew his sword and ran forward as he slid his shield into position.  Leliana followed him, her short blades out and ready.  Tara frowned, and followed slowly, drawing his staff.  There was a loud bang, and Alistair shouted in warning.

"It's not darkspawn," sighed Morrigan.

"It's a trap!  Alistair!"  Tara shouted.

"I'm all right," Alistair called back.  "Look out, there's a mage!"

"There," smiled Morrigan, "I see her."  Morrigan readied her staff, and sent a wave of disorienting horror out at the archers surrounding the mage.  The archers went mad under the influence of her spell, and tore the enemy mage apart.

Tara glanced over the wagons.  It was a cunningly laid ambush.  The wagons were arranged in such a way that Alistair and Leliana couldn't move freely, but they hadn't planned on two mages attacking.  He focused on the area just beyond where Alistair and Leliana were fighting, and threw a fireball into the midst of the attackers.  They screamed in agony as they caught fire and ran around, knocking down their companions.  He aimed at the other side, and threw a blizzard there that knocked them from their positions, falling down the now icy hillside.

"Get the mages," a voice commanded, and a group of attackers broke off and started towards where Tara and Morrigan were standing.

The accent was unfamiliar, and Tara looked to see who was giving orders.  The leader was short – for a human, and slender – for a human.  If he were an elf, he would be of average height and well-built.  Tara stared at the leader's sharply pointed ears.  "An elf?  Trying to kill me?"

"Not all elves are your friend," said Morrigan sharply.  "You would do well to remember that."  The warhound rushed past them, and tackled the first attacker before she could reach the mages, and wrestled the assassin to the ground.  "That dog gets more useful every day."  Morrigan sent out another wave of madness, and the attackers turned on each other, ignoring the Mabari completely while it continued the work of slaughtering anyone who got too close.

Tara forced himself to continue casting, throwing fire and ice all over the battlefield where it would do the most good.  Alistair closed with the leader, but the elf's speed was too much for him.  Luckily, Leliana appeared just in time after dispatching the last of the assassins who had closed with them, and came up behind the leader.  The elf blocked her first attempt to kill him, but was finally knocked unconscious by a blow from Alistair's shield, and fell to the ground, stunned.

Alistair stood over the leader's body, panting with his exertion.  "Should we kill him?"

"No," said Tara quickly.  "Leliana, tie him up.  We can ask him a few questions."  Tara walked over to where the unconscious assassin lay, and stared down at him.  He was an elf.  One that knew how to fight well, not some drunken city elf.  He had long golden hair with unfamiliar markings on his face.  Even his supple leather armor looked foreign, as did the long, strangely curved bow at his back.

Alistair knelt down so that Morrigan could wrestle out the two arrows that were sticking out of his armor.  "Please heal me before I pass out from blood loss this time," grumbled Alistair.

"Fine, fine.  Ruin my fun."  Morrigan glanced at the arrowheads.  "Not poisoned.  You're lucky.  I'm not," she muttered under her breath.

Leliana finished tying up the assassin, and went over the battlefield to make sure of the survivors.  Tara frowned at the unconscious elf.

"What's wrong?" asked Alistair.

"I'm not sure what to do with the prisoner," said Tara slowly.  "I've never had one before."

"Good point.  Oh, I think he's waking up," said Alistair cheerfully.  "Maybe he'll help you make up your mind."

The assassin groaned as he half-sat up, propping himself on his elbows.  "What?  I… oh."  The elf looked around, trying to take in his surroundings, but made no move to stand, seemingly content to continue lying at Tara's feet.  "I rather thought I would wake up dead.  Or not wake up at all, as the case may be.  But, I see you haven't killed me yet."  He smiled cheerfully up at his captors.

"I have some questions," said Tara firmly.

"Ah, so I'm to be interrogated?  How delightful," smiled the assassin.  "Still, you seem unfamiliar with this concept.  Allow me to save you some time.  My name is Zevran Arainai.  Zev, to my friends," said the assassin, still smiling charmingly, as if he were a guest at a party rather than a prisoner lying on the ground surrounded by the corpses of his comrades.  "I am a member of the Antivan Crows," he said proudly.  "I was brought here for the sole purpose of slaying any surviving Grey Wardens – at which I have failed, sadly.  Or perhaps – but no.  I digress."

"What's an Antivan Crow?" Tara demanded, trying to ignore the way the assassin's dark brown eyes roamed over him.

"They are an order of assassins, famed the world over for their skill.  They are very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done," explained Leliana.  "Someone went to great expense to hire this man."

"I suppose I should be flattered," muttered Tara.

"If you wish to be flattered, I can certainly do that," smiled Zevran, infuriatingly unashamed.  "But I believe we're still in the 'asking questions' phase.  You know, I'm surprised you've never heard of the Crows.  But then, in Antiva, our mages are not so cloistered.  We are, as the lovely maiden said, renowned the world over.  In fact, we're rather infamous."

"Not for being good assassins, I hope."

Zevran gasped in mock pain.  "You wound me!  No, seriously, is this how you Fereldans are?  You mock your prisoners?  Tsk tsk.  Such exquisite cruelty."  Zevran's accent and his naturally deep voice combined to make the last sentence sound more like praise than a complaint.

Tara tried not to blush.  "Seriously, why are you telling me all this?"

"Why not?" Zevran shrugged.  "I wasn't paid for silence.  Not that I offered it for sale, precisely, but nevertheless, no one in Ferelden could afford it anyway."  He smiled again, and Tara realized that assassin hadn't stopped looking at him since Leliana had spoken.  "Not with gold, at any rate."

"Right.  Were you paid to talk my ears off, then?"

"And such lovely ears they are, but no, if I were going to fill them with the sound of my voice, this is not what we would be discussing."

Tara gritted his teeth as he realized that he was blushing.

"Consider it something I'm throwing in for free," Zevran continued.  "As it is, if you're done with the interrogation, I've something of a proposal, if you're of a mind."

"A proposal."  Tara just stared at him.

"No, not that kind.  Not yet, anyway.  Perhaps once we get to know each other better," Zevran held back a laugh at the look on Tara's face.  "No, I was simply going to suggest that I join your merry little band.  You see, I failed to kill you, so my life – such as it is – is forfeit.  That's how it works in the Crows.  If you don't kill me, they will.  And I can't help but notice that you haven't killed me yet.  So I have hope, of a sort, that I can continue living.  It is something I quite enjoy.  And you are obviously the sort to give the Crows pause.  So, let me serve you, instead."

"You have got to be joking," Tara exclaimed.  "After this stunning show of competence and loyalty?"

"I happen to be a very loyal person," Zevran protested.  "Up until the point where someone expects me to die just for failing.  How is that fair?  And, as for my competence, well," he shifted slightly, and tossed the ropes that had been holding his hands together at Tara's feet.  "Let's just say, I already made up my mind not to kill you.  Given the circumstances."

Alistair growled in surprise, while Leliana made a sharp noise of irritation.  Morrigan burst out laughing.

"I like him," smiled Morrigan.

Tara sighed.  "So, what do you expect to get from me?"

"I have a list.  Ah, no, you meant as a travelling companion, did you not?" said Zevran quickly, before Tara could say anything.  "Really, I ask nothing more than to be allowed to live, for now.  It would make me marginally more useful to you, after all.  And, if somewhere down the line, you should decide that you no longer have need of me, than I will go my own way.  Is that not fair?"  He smiled at Tara's nod of grudging acceptance.  "Until then," Zevran smoothly rose to his feet, and then gracefully bowed to the slight mage, "I am yours."

Tara couldn't help himself, and blushed again.

"And what's to stop him from trying to finish the job later?" demanded Alistair.

Zevran laughed cheerfully.  "Why should I?  To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows.  They brought me on the slave market when I was but a child.  Surely, I have paid back my worth to them by now.  Tenfold."  There was a slight touch of bitterness in his words when he spoke of the Crows.  "The only way out, however, is either to die, or to sign up with someone they can't touch."  He bowed to Tara again.  "Even if I did kill you, they might kill me just on principle for failing the first time.  Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you."

"Won't they come after you?" asked Tara slowly.

"Possibly," Zevran shrugged.  "From what I know of their wily ways, I would guess that they might try.  I can protect myself, as well as you.  Not that you seem to need much help," he shrugged.  "But then, it isn't as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?"  Zevran met Tara's eyes as he spoke, and Tara knew that he was telling the truth.

"Fine," muttered Tara.  "You can come along."

"What?"  Alistair stared at him.  "You're taking the assassin with us now?  Does that really seem like a good idea?"

"After fighting the ogre, nothing I've done has seemed like a good idea.  Just an idea that might work."

Leliana smiled.  "Don't be so hasty, Alistair.  I think having an Antivan Crow join us sounds like a fine plan.  Welcome, Zevran."

"Oh, are you another companion to be, then?"  Zevran bowed to Leliana, and kissed her hand.  "I wasn't aware such loveliness existed amongst adventurers.  How fortuitous, to find such a flower in the disharmony of such surroundings."

"Or maybe not," said Leliana sharply, and pulled her hand away.

Zevran pretended to be surprised by her reaction, then chuckled and turned to Tara.  "And may I know your name?"

"Taratihel Surana," he held out his hand, expecting the assassin to shake it, or perhaps attack.

Instead, Zevran knelt gracefully, holding Tara's hand in both of his.  "You honor me," said Zevran calmly, more serious now than he had been the entire time.  "Taratihel Surana, of the Grey Wardens, I, Zevran Arainai, hereby pledge my oath of loyalty to you, until such a time as you chose to release me from it.  I am your man without reservation, this I swear."

Tara blinked.  "Why does everything that you say sound so perverted?"

"Years of practice," grinned Zevran as he rose to his feet.  "Also, the Antivan accent."

"Oh, Maker," groaned Alistair.  "What are we getting ourselves into?"

 

"So, let me see if I have this right: he does nothing in the camp."  Zevran set down the wood he had collected for the fire and pretended not to notice that Tara was sitting with Wynne just a few feet away.  "Does he work it off in a different way?  Is there a rotation?"

Alistair glared at their newest member.  "Drop it, Arainai.  This system works fine, and no one has a problem with it."

"Ah, we are slaves, then," said Zevran cheerfully.  "Do we get collars?  Where's yours?"

"They are not slaves," snapped Tara.  "It's not like that."

"No?" said Zevran, his dark brown eyes wide with apparent confusion.  "But you eat food that you had no hand in preparing, you sleep in a tent that you didn't set up – it seems like a wonderful deal for you.  Not so much for the others who have to do your share."

Tara turned away in irritation without answering.

"He has a place," said the Qunari warrior as he walked up to the woodpile.  "His place is not to do the work of the camp.  That is a role better filled by those whose minds are filled with idle chatter."

Zevran raised an eyebrow.  "Oh, don't even start with your crazy talk of place and roles here.  I'm just saying that it seems a little unfair."

Sten glared at the elven assassin.  "And I am saying that I do not wish to be subjected to your worthless talk when we have a duty to perform."

"Oh, please," groaned Zevran, "don’t tell me I'm going to have to beat you senseless before I can whine about the iniquity of being forced to do hard labor for someone who looks like a stiff wind could blow him away."

"You could not defeat me," snarled Sten.

"Ah, so it has come to this already," grinned Zevran, and picked up a stick from the pile of wood.  "What shall satisfy you that I have the right to speak, keeper of order?  First blood?  Or must I really beat you senseless?"

Tara stood, but Sten waved him back.  "If this chattering fool wishes to challenge me, then so be it.  I would know my place, and have him know it as well."  Sten selected a stick from the woodpile, one that was almost the same width and length as the one that Zevran held.

Zevran kept smiling in that insanely irritating way, and bowed ironically to Sten.  "So be it.  If you are ready?"

"I am ready," growled Sten.

"Then, let us begin," said Zevran cheerfully, and made a quick lunge at the towering Qunari.  Sten grunted in irritation, and moved to close with him.  Faster than shadow, Zevran moved out of his reach and the stick in his hands flew out to strike Sten in the chest.  "Alla rondo," said Zevran cheerfully as they traded blows, Sten's strength against Zevran's amazing speed.  "I love this tempo, but perhaps," Zevran had somehow moved so that he was directly in front of Sten, and the Qunari dropped his stick to grab him, "this dance calls for something a little different, no?"

Zevran used the stick in his hands to smack Sten once on each wrist, causing the Qunari to growl in surprise as his hands were temporarily paralyzed.  Zevran tossed the stick away, sending it to land upright in the dirt a few feet away before punching Sten once in the midsection, then in the throat.  Sten tried to swipe at Zevran as he was driven back, but the assassin dodged his crippled blows easily.  "You know," said Zevran, as if they were sitting at a table having a pleasant conversation, "you never did say whether it was to first blood, or whether I truly needed to beat you senseless to prove my point."  Without giving Sten a chance to answer, Zevran swept the Qunari's legs out from beneath him.  Sten fell heavily to the ground, landing with his head right next to the stick that Zevran had tossed aside so casually earlier.

"Your prowess in battle is that of a snake, but it is undeniable," snarled Sten.  "I do not require any further proof of your worth."

"Are you sure?" grinned Zevran.  "I can go on.  I have some time."

"That's enough," said Tara sharply.

"You're very bossy," observed Zevran, as he crossed his arms and regarded the mage.  Tara was small and slight, even for an elf.  "It's sort of cute.  And sort of annoying."

"I do not need anyone to fight my battles for me," growled Sten, struggling to his feet.

Tara felt his patience come to an end, and threw out a wave of mana that sent both Sten and Zevran flying across the camp.  "I don't care about your stupid fight!  I just want some quiet!" he shouted.  Sten slammed into Bodhan's wagon, and Zevran rolled with the blast so that he ended up in front of Morrigan's tent.

Zevran looked up cautiously as Tara stormed away.  "That was unexpected.  And painful," he muttered as he gingerly touched his side.

Morrigan laughed.  "I'll get some poultices.  Have we learned our lesson?" she smirked.

Zevran grinned back at her.  "I have learned many things in the last few minutes.  Some of which, I am not certain that you wanted me to know."

Morrigan glared at him.  "You filthy – "

"Oh, what color are they?" called Leliana from where she was preparing the evening meal.

Morrigan turned bright red.  "Forget it.  You can go crawl to Wynne for healing.  I'll tend to the Qunari."  Morrigan turned away and picked up her bag.

"Surely, you would not be so heartless," Zevran protested.  "I lie here, at your feet, wounded and helpless.  How can you just walk away?"

"He said he wanted quiet," Morrigan pointed out as she stepped around Zevran.  "You might want to keep that in mind."

"True, true," muttered Zevran.  He rolled over to his back and lay in the mud.  "You know, I don't even remember why we were fighting anymore."

Leliana walked over, laughing quietly, and helped him to his feet.  "You got hit that hard?  Or was it Morrigan's view?"

"Hardly," Zevran laughed, and whispered something in Leliana's ear.

"Oh, I know," Leliana agreed.  "That is distracting!"  She helped him over to where Wynne was laying out bandages and taking stock of their medical supplies.  "I don't think he knows he does it, but, yes, I know exactly what you mean!"  Zevran sat down, and Leliana leaned over to whisper back to him.

"Really?"  Zevran looked at her.  "You're not serious."

She nodded, and Tara finally looked up from the book he was reading.

"What are you two going on about?" he demanded.

"Nothing," they said at the same time, sounding very guilty.

"Oh, the marinade!" exclaimed Leliana, and ran off without meeting his eyes.  Zevran pretended to be in pain, making Wynne stop her work to tend to him.

Tara frowned.  "I hate people," he muttered and went back to his book, trying not to wonder what was going on.

The Tranquil servant walked up to where Tara was sitting, and added more wood to his fire.  "You should not read in insufficient light," she observed, then continued past to tend to the cooking fire.

Zevran watched the Tranquil working and watched Tara reading while Wynne patched up his cracked ribs.  He bowed politely when she was done.  "Your skills are very impressive, and most welcome."

"You're welcome," said Wynne sharply.  "Now go away.  Bother Alistair or something."  Wynne turned back to checking the supplies with the help of the mage from the tower.

Zevran walked across the camp, and found where Alistair sat, polishing his armor.  "Wynne said I should bother you.  But it doesn't seem like anything bothers you."

"He doesn't know how," muttered Alistair quietly.

"I beg your pardon?" Zevran looked curiously at him.

"He doesn't know how," Alistair repeated.  "It's one of the ways the Templars in Ferelden keep the mages in check.  The Tranquil do all the work in the tower, and the mages aren't taught basic skills like cooking and cleaning.  That's why they sent a Tranquil with the emissary."

"Ah," said Zevran softly.  "So when they run away, they stick out like extra thumbs."  He glanced over at where Tara was still sitting and reading, apparently oblivious to the noise and bustle of the camp.  "Well, why doesn't he ask to learn?"

"I know you haven't known him for very long, but does he really look like the kind of person who would ask for anything?"

"Good point," Zevran agreed.  He sighed.  "Ah, well, I will get used to it, I suppose."  He looked curiously at Alistair.  "Was there some reason you didn't just say that earlier?  Like, say, before all the noise and the bruises?"

Alistair grinned.  "And stop the fight?  It was too much fun to watch."

 

"Why is it that with all the darkspawn attacking, there are still more bandits on the road than anything else?" grumbled Alistair as he put his shield away.  "For that matter, why do they keep attacking us?  What is about the fully armored people, the Qunari, and the three mages that makes bandits think we're an easy target?"  He looked at Zevran, waiting for the Antivan's wit to come up with a clever reply.

Instead, Zevran rushed past Alistair, and caught the slender form before Tara crumpled to the floor.  "Little fool," growled Zevran.  "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh, no!" cried Leliana, and helped Zevran to gently lower him the ground, using herself as a pillow to hold Tara up while Zevran checked the wounds in his side.  "The poor darling," she whimpered.  "Is he badly hurt?"

Morrigan forced her way to Tara's side, roughly pushing Leliana aside.  "For the last time, he is not your 'darling.'  The blades were poisoned."  She pulled out some glass bottles and started mixing an antidote.

"Well, he's not your 'darling,' either, you horrible woman!"  Despite her words, Leliana helped Morrigan with the bottles and held Tara in place so that Morrigan could poultice and bandage his wounds.  Zevran watched the two women bicker with a slight smile of amusement.  When Morrigan finished, he picked up the mage to take him to the wagon.

"Oh, fooey," frowned Leliana.  "I wanted to carry him."

"What?  And interrupt this loving discussion?"  Zevran shook his head, "No, no, allow me.  Please, you two, carry on."  He chuckled as he walked back to the wagon, easily supporting the slight form in his arms.  "I wonder which one he's really bedding," Zevran murmured idly, and set Tara down in the wagon.  "Whichever one it is, she's very lucky."  Alistair and Wynne came up to check on Tara, and Zevran moved away.  "Fuss, fuss, fuss," he chuckled.  "No wonder he is so spoiled."

"And yet," said Sten grimly, "you were the first at his side."

"I move fast," Zevran laughed.  "But, I know better than to intrude where I'm not wanted."

Sten looked at the tiny form lying unconscious in the wagon.  "That would imply that he knew what he wanted."

Zevran raised his eyebrow.  "Such things are usually obvious, are they not?"

Sten shrugged, and started walking with the slow-moving wagon again.  "In the Qun, these are not questions.  Mating is carefully controlled, and the release of excess passions is strictly regulated and directed."

"That sort of takes all the fun out of it," smiled Zevran.

"Does it?" Sten looked down at him.  "At least it gets done.  There would be none of this shyness and dancing around the subject for weeks," he said scornfully.

"Well, we can't have that, now can we?" said Zevran slowly.  "Well, my gigantic friend," he smiled, "let me set your mind at ease.  I promise I will simply take matters into my own hands the first chance I get."

Sten grunted.  "You are going to wait for an opportune moment, like those foolish women?"

Zevran laughed.  "Such moments are better made than waited for, my friend."


	6. Waking Dream, pt.1

Tara sat up slowly, trying to figure out if he was awake or still in the Fade.  It was getting more and more difficult to tell the difference now that he was out of the tower.  He looked around.  The quartz rock of the walls pulsed gently with the living lyrium embedded within, and he was lying on a large, soft mattress – a sure sign that he was in the Fade.  This was a dream that he'd had before – "enasalera," in the ancient Elven language.  A repeated dream.  He knew what was going to happen.  The door would open, and his husband would walk in, and say -

"You have finished dreaming," said the warm, welcoming voice.  "You were gone for a long time."

Tara looked at him in surprise.  He'd had this dream hundreds of times since he had learned to control his dreams, but for some reason, he hadn't connected that voice with the real world.  But he recognized the voice, impossible as it was.

Without waiting for a response, his husband drew him out of bed and into his arms.  "You have lain still long enough.  Amuse me," he commanded with a smile.

"How did you know I was awake?"  He always asked this question, and the answer never ceased to please him.  But this time, there was a touch of strangeness to it, because he realized who he was speaking to.  Had the dream always been this way, or had it been changed, influenced by his reality?

"Do you think I don't know when you wake and when you dream?  I can feel your presence.  You are my dreams," he smiled, and kissed Tara on the neck, working his way up to his ears with quick, soft kisses.  "I always fear that one day, you will forget to return to me," he laughed, "and then I would have to chase you.  But I would find you.  You know this, yes?  You are mine," he said, suddenly fierce and demanding.  He tilted Tara's face up to his, holding him still, a willing captive in his arms.  "Mine, and nothing can keep you from me.  Not dreams, not kings, not barbarians.  Wherever you go, whenever you go, I will find you."

Tara sat up, shocked out of his dream.  He gave a sharp gasp of pain that turned into a slightly pathetic whimper, unaware that he was injured.

"Gently, gently," chided Zevran, and eased Tara back down to his bedroll.  "One cannot allow oneself to be a sheath for bandit knives and not expect to suffer for it."

"I was dreaming," murmured Tara.

Zevran chuckled, and brushed Tara's silvery-white hair out of his eyes.  "It was a good dream, I hope.  Was I in it?"

"Yes," said Tara before he could stop himself.  "I mean, no, no, of course not," he blushed.  "Wait, why are you in my tent?"

Zevran decided to ignore the slip of the tongue, and chose to answer the last question.  "I was making sure you were still breathing.  You wander off in your dreams, apparently.  I was worried I would have to go into the Fade and find you," he laughed.

Tara blushed even more, something he hadn't thought possible.  "I'm awake now.  Is there anything to eat?  I'm starving."

"Of course."  Zevran lifted a covered bowl from the haybasket, where Wynne had left it to keep warm.  "Wynne left you some nourishing soup – ah, but you must sit up.  How will this work?  Ah, I know."  As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he gently lifted Tara into a sitting position against his chest.  To his surprise, Tara made no protest and quietly accepted the bowl from Zevran.

"Thank you."

Zevran tried not to look surprised, and watched Tara take a few spoons of the soup.

Tara set the bowl down again.  "I'm too tired to eat."

Zevran put the bowl back in the basket, and experimentally put his arms around Tara.  "Or to be angry, apparently.  I like you like this," Zevran smiled.  "Not all the time, of course, but I must admit it's quite nice."  Zevran pulled the slight form a little closer.  "Or is it because you're still half-asleep?"

Tara laughed, and settled himself more comfortably in Zevran's arms, resting his head on Zevran's shoulder.  "Maybe.  Or maybe it's just because I like listening to your heartbeat."

"You know, that really sounds like you're flirting with me," Zevran observed.  "Did we move on to flirting already?  I must have missed a signpost somewhere."

The problem with enasalera was that the dreams repeated so often, they started to color the dreamer's perceptions of reality.  In his dreams, Tara was a haughty and powerful magelord of the ancient elven empire, married to a passionate and loving warlord that his half-awake mind was starting to merge with Zevran.  So it made perfect sense to him to laugh lightly at the comment and pull Zevran's head down to him for a kiss, because that was would have happened in the dream.

Zevran was surprised that the young man who had resisted the most blatant advances from an Orlesian bard and blushed at the ribald comments of an Antivan assassin was kissing him – for about a second.  Then he forgot all about the others in the camp – and all about the darkspawn, the regent that wanted them all dead, the Crows that were after him, everything – he forgot about everything except the soft, warm body in his arms.  The sweet lips pressed against his.  He pulled him closer, careful of Tara's wounds, but still fiercely demanding, practically crushing the slight mage against his chest.  Tara's response was to slide his hands into Zevran's hair, and give a soft moan of appreciation without breaking the kiss.

"What the – " exclaimed Alistair as he walked past Tara's tent.

"Hush!" said Leliana quickly, but it was too late.

Tara pulled away from Zevran, blushing.  "I forgot I was awake," he smiled at Zevran.

"I forgot to close your tent flap," Zevran replied, still staring hungrily at Tara.

"You should probably do that next time," Tara agreed.

Zevran smiled at him.  "So, there will be a next time?  Not just in your dreams?"

Tara smiled, knowing that Zevran wouldn't understand why.  "Of course."

Alistair pulled the amorous Antivan out of the tent.  "He's supposed to be sleeping!  What do you think you're doing?"

"You really want me to explain?" asked Zevran.  "I might need some paper for diagrams."

"You ruined it," whined Leliana, and smacked Alistair in the arm.  "I had the perfect view and everything!"

Tara just laughed, and pulled the tent flap closed so that he could get some rest.


	7. Nightfall and Sunrise

"They're attacking from the docks!" shouted one of the militia.  "Help!"

Tara looked around quickly.  There seemed to be only a few scattered undead shambling around the windmill.

"I can clean up here," said Alistair, knocking down another skeleton.  "Go on, I'll catch up!"

Tara nodded and started running down the hill to the village square.  He heard someone behind him, and looked quickly to see who it was.  "Zevran?"

"You're going where all the fun is," Zevran smiled.  "Oh, look, more undead.  Why would they come here, anyway?  Is Redcliffe secretly some sort of undead resort?"

Tara laughed, and took up a position near the edge of the square where he could see the undead swarming in.  He set up a pillar of fire in their path as they charged in, and then set a blizzard just outside so that the walking dead would end up frozen and on fire at the same time.  Behind him, he could hear the twang of Zevran's bow and the shouts of the militiamen.

The waves of undead kept coming, and Tara began to hear the soft whisperings at the back of his mind, the voices from the past, urging him to destroy.  "We'll be fine," he snarled to himself, forcing them to be silent, but more undead swarmed out of the earth.  Alistair and Leliana were still fighting at the windmill, and Tara saw the militia being driven back around him.  There was a grunt just to his side, someone choking back a cry of pain, and Tara saw Zevran holding his side, blood spilling over his hands.

Zevran looked up in surprise as there was a split second of odd silence over the village turned battlefield, followed by an unholy roar, the crack of thunder mingled with shards of ice, and a storm unlike anything he had ever seen before.  The undead were swept up into storm by the swirling winds, frozen and paralyzed, then ripped apart by the magical forces that Tara had unleashed.  "Well, why didn't you just do that earlier?" Zevran grinned, then looked curiously at the slight mage.  His arms were out, his staff raised, and even Zevran could feel the magical power coming from him in waves as he rained elemental destruction on the undead horde.  But the little mage's eyes were closed, and he wasn't actually moving his hands – yet, spells were coming from him, fire and lighting and ice, twisting all the forces of nature to utterly destroy everything in his path.

Zevran quickly pulled one of the Templars out of the way as he realized that Tara, in his current state, couldn't tell friend from foe.  "Fall back," he shouted.  "Stay out of the mage's way!"  Zevran repositioned the men so that they weren't at risk from Tara's spells, and so that the archers could continue firing into the mass of huddled, helpless undead.  It didn't take very long for the last one to fall, and in the distance, the first touch of sunlight broke across the sky.  The villagers cheered in delight as they realized that they were all alive, and that the attack was over.

Tara rushed over to Zevran.  "You're hurt!"  Zevran looked at him strangely, and Tara realized he was using the wrong words.  He shook his head, forcing himself back to the real world.  "You're hurt," he said again.  "Are you all right?"

"What was that, just now?" demanded Zevran.  "I think I have a right to know if my prospective love interests are subject to demonic possession at any time."

Tara blinked at him.  "Did you just call me a love interest?" he asked, trying not to blush.  "I mean – I'm not possessed.  It's not a demon.  I'll explain later," he said quickly, and called Wynne over to tend to Zevran's wound.  He would have moved away, but somehow found himself being used as Zevran's pillow while Wynne healed and bandaged the ugly stab wound.

"Mmm," said Zevran approvingly.  "Most comfortable.  You are very soft."  Tara blushed, but waited for Wynne to finish, then helped Zevran limp to the house Tara had commandeered for their headquarters.  "If you are looking for your bags, I already moved them upstairs.  People tend to trip over your staves and such," Zevran explained.

Tara helped him upstairs with a sheepish smile.  "Thank you.  I'm used to the Tranquil putting all my things away for me.  Which room?"

"The master bedroom, of course," Zevran chuckled.  "Nothing but the best for you, my dear."

"No," said Tara patiently, "I meant, where are your things?  Where are you sleeping?"

"In the master bedroom, of course.  Nothing but the best for you, mi amor."  Zevran looked questioningly at Tara.  "Does this not please you?"

"Uh… it's fine," said Tara, unaccountably nervous.  "Look, a door.  Let's go inside and make sure we close it this time."

"This is a good plan," Zevran agreed, and let Tara lead him into the bedroom.

Tara noted that the sheets were clean as he helped Zevran to sit on the bed, and wondered if – no, when – Zevran had changed the sheets.  He had only decided on staying in this abandoned house a few hours ago.  Tara walked nervously to the door, and carefully closed it after making sure that there wasn't anyone else in the hallway or on the stairs.  He could hear Alistair and Morrigan talking downstairs, and someone was sharpening a sword – probably Leliana.

"Come here," Zevran demanded.

Tara looked up in surprise, and Zevran held out his hand, beckoning Tara to him.  Tara walked over to him, still confused, until Zevran pulled him into his arms.  "Oh!"  Tara wrapped his arms around Zevran's shoulders, pressing himself as tightly as he could against Zevran's tautly muscled chest as Zevran pulled him into a fiery kiss.  "Zevran – "

Zevran silenced him with a kiss, then another, and drew Tara down to the bed with him, covering his face with fierce kisses.  He moved so that Tara was beneath him, and pushed away the soft robes the slender mage wore so that he could move his kisses down the tantalizingly soft skin of Tara's neck, then back up to his perfectly shaped ears.  "You are the most lovely creature I have ever seen," murmured Zevran in response to a soft moan of pleasure from Tara.  "Mysterious and alluring," Zevran continued, aware that Tara thrilled to the sound of his voice.  "Why are you so different from anyone I have ever known?"

"Am I really so different?" Tara asked with a soft smile.  His lips were soft and red from Zevran's kisses, and his silvery-white hair spilled out over the crimson bedspread in a perfect picture.

"Indeed," smiled Zevran.  "I have not known many mages, and none as powerful as you.  And, if I may be so bold, I have not known many virgins.  They are – extremely uncommon in Antiva."

Tara blushed slightly.  "Oh, so Leliana mentioned that, did she?"  He laughed, and looked up at Zevran, who was leaning over him, resting on one elbow.  "I'm picky," Tara explained.  "I didn't like any of my classmates, I didn't want to be a Templar's love slave, and my instructors were all off limits."

Zevran chuckled.  "Off limits?  You were not interested enough, I take it."

"Not enough to piss off Irving – I was his apprentice, so anything I did got back to him eventually.  He's a very powerful old mage – and he has a mean right hook," said Tara ruefully.

"He struck you?" asked Zevran calmly, but Tara could see a slight tightening of Zevran's handsome jaw.

"No, no," said Tara quickly, "not me.  He was protecting me."

"Ah."  Zevran laughed and leaned down to kiss him again.  "As would any man worthy of the name.  And most women," Zevran smiled.

Tara frowned slightly at that.  "Why is that?  Why does everyone want to protect me?  I can take care of myself."

"I do not doubt it," Zevran agreed.  "But, that does not change the fact that I would vastly prefer that you did nothing more strenuous than lying about all day upon soft cushions.  Preferably, with a bare minimum of clothing."

Tara laughed.  "Leliana said something like that, only she wanted a bevy of beautiful women to surround me and do my hair and nails while I reclined on a velvet couch."

"Her taste is superb," purred Zevran.  "I approve.  So, what exactly did you do with Leliana that makes her so crazy for you?"

"She came pre-crazy," said Tara defensively.  "We didn't do anything, really.  I was just – experimenting," he said, suddenly shy.  "I've never done any of these things before."

"Hmm?  And what things might these be, exactly?" asked Zevran.

Blushing, Tara looked away.  "You know.  Kissing.  Throwing yourself at strangers and letting them stick their tongue in your mouth."

Zevran chuckled again, and bent down to claim Tara's lips again.  "And what are you doing now, my lovely little one?  Is this another experiment?"  Tara wrapped his arms around Zevran's neck, pulling him closer with a sudden, undeniable urgency.  "Or is this something you actually want?"  As he spoke, Zevran ran his hands down Tara's side, gently caressing the soft curves, the slight angles of Tara's body.  He could feel Tara's body heating up beneath his touch, even through the layers of robes that the slender mage wore.

"I do want you," whispered Tara nervously, "I just – I don't know what that actually means."  He would have looked away, but Zevran gently tilted his face back to him.

"And you want to know?"  Tara nodded, but Zevran shook his head.  "You must say it, mi amor.  There can be no uncertainty in these things."

"What do you want me to say?" asked Tara, unable to tear his eyes away from Zevran.  "I want you, that's all I know.  I want you to touch me, and do all the things I can't dream about because I don't know what they are."

"My precious one," murmured Zevran as he kissed Tara.  "My lovely little one.  I have desired you since I awoke to find you standing over me, and pretending not to look at me.  You bring back all the dreams and ideals that I had as a child," Zevran laughed.  "You make me believe in heroes, and miracles, and true love."  Zevran shook his head.  "But I know that these things are not real, so I only hope that I can be there to catch you when you fall."

"And what if they are real?" smiled Tara.  "What will you do then?"

Zevran chuckled.  "Then, mi amor, I will be very pleasantly surprised."  He kissed Tara again, on the lips, the neck, the delicate ears.  "Ah, you are so distracting," he laughed.  "I have forgotten what else I was going to tell you."

"Why are you talking anyway?" asked Tara.  "I thought you lured me in here so you could have your way with me."

"And instead, here I am, lecturing you," laughed Zevran, and shook his head.  "I suppose it is to be expected.  You are so young, I worry that I am taking advantage of you.  I worry that I will frighten or disgust you."

Tara laughed at him.  "I don't think so," he said sweetly, and pulled Zevran to him for a kiss.  "Do I really look nervous, or confused?  I'm here because I want to be, and I want to be with you.  I know, I don't know anything about – this.  What we're doing.  What I hope we're doing, anyway," he laughed.  "I'm perfectly willing to be – pleasantly surprised.  You're not going to scare me off."

Zevran kissed him back, gently pulling Tara to him so that he could caress the mage's soft body.  "I just wish someone had done this already," he murmured.  His handsome face curved in a wry smile.  "It would make me slightly less nervous."

"I don't like women very much," Tara confessed.  "And Alistair doesn't like men," he shrugged.  "I like you," he offered.

"Did you try to seduce Alistair?" asked Zevran with amusement.  "I would pay to see that."

"No," Tara shook his head.  "I can't even seduce you, and you want to sleep with me."

"I think you are doing a wonderful job of seducing me," protested Zevran.  "You underestimate yourself."

"We're still talking, instead of – doing other thi-" Tara's sentence ended in a gasp of surprise as Zevran's hand gently stroked him, sliding between his legs.  He hadn't noticed Zevran's hands carefully opening his robes, or cutting away his underwear so that he was now completely nude, for Zevran's hands to touch and caress.

Zevran kissed him again, silencing the flow of nervous words with passionate kisses as his hands continued exploring the virgin territory between Tara's legs.  The mage was small, even for an elf, delicately built, with the softness of a body that had never done any hard labor, and the smooth, flawless skin of someone who had never been denied the luxuries of life.

In contrast, Zevran's larger body was lean and muscular, the body of a man who had overcome a starved and deprived youth.  Like all physically strong elves, his muscles were like sheets of steel, rather than the layered muscles of a human, and he had not an ounce of spare fat.  His darker skin was scarred here and there, a roadmap of his past, roughened by exposure to the elements.

Tara ran his hands over Zevran's back, still unsure when Zevran's shirt had disappeared, but too pleased by the feel of Zevran's hard, masculine flesh to bother asking questions.  He blushed slightly and turned away as Zevran's hand began stroking him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just – there isn't much for you to work with, is there?  It's kind of embarrassing," Tara flushed.  "Sorry."

"You have no need to be ashamed of your body.  You are lovely," said Zevran firmly.  "Every part of you, I adore and desire."  Zevran moved suddenly, pulling Tara closer to the edge of the bed before he could protest.  Tara had time for one cry of surprise before Zevran sank to his knees and took Tara into his mouth, running his tongue eagerly over the slight length.  Tara cried out again, this time in pleasure as Zevran continued licking and sucking him.

Zevran used all his skill to keep Tara from coming too soon, drawing out the experience so that he could hear Tara's moans become wilder and wilder as he continued teasing Tara's stiff little cock with his lips and his tongue.  He ran his fingers down the soft crevice between Tara's legs while he worked, gently moving his fingers over the tight rosy ring guarding the entrance to Tara's body, arousing him so that the slick elven moisture would begin to flow.  Zevran chuckled to himself as Tara dug his fingers into Zevran's shoulders, unconscious of any pain he might be causing, and moaned in appreciation of Tara's passion without moving his mouth from Tara's cock, causing a shudder of pleasure to run through Tara's entire body.

"Zevran," Tara moaned softly.  He wasn't sure what he wanted to say, but Zevran seemed to understand as his body began to shudder.  Zevran held him close, then pulled his mouth away and stood up, licking his lips, and brought his hand to his mouth.  Tara watched in fascination as Zevran licked his fingers, smiling with satisfaction.  "Delicious.  And tingly, mi amor.  That is very different," he chuckled.  Zevran slowly unbuckled his pants, and let them fall away.  He watched Tara's eyes, and saw nothing but lust and desire there as Tara sat up slightly, to get a better look at Zevran's powerful, tightly muscled body.

"What does it taste like?" asked Tara shyly.

Zevran smiled slowly.  "It is hard to describe it, mi amor.  I think you taste wonderful, but I doubt that we taste the same.  You can certainly try for yourself, if you so desire."  He held out his hands in an inviting gesture, and Tara eagerly rose from the bed to give Zevran a kiss.  He ran his hands over the Antivan's body, so different from his own.  Zevran tilted his head up, gently guiding Tara's mouth down to his neck.  Zevran murmured in appreciation as Tara eagerly kissed him and began mimicking the way Zevran had used his tongue on his body, running his tongue over the muscles in Zevran's neck and shoulders.

"Oh," said Tara in surprise.  "Did I do that?" he asked guiltily, looking at the marks on Zevran's skin.

"Why, yes," smiled Zevran.  "And I am looking forward to you doing it again."  Zevran laughed slightly, and ran his hand through Tara's hair, again gently guiding the mage back to kissing his body.  Tara ran his hand over Zevran's chest, tracing the lines of his muscles while he kissed Zevran's skin again and again.

Following the subtle pressure of Zevran's hands, Tara continued kissing and licking until he found himself kneeling in front of Zevran's cock.  He touched it shyly with one hand, amazed by the size of it, and felt Zevran's hand in his hair, gently urging him forward.  Tara swallowed nervously, and then licked the side of Zevran's cock.  It was more the sensation of Zevran's throbbing flesh under his tongue than the taste of Zevran's skin that made Tara do it again, and he opened his mouth and let Zevran slide the head forward.  Tara closed his eyes, concentrating on the feel, the smell, the taste.  The experience of having Zevran's hands on his body, Zevran's stiff cock in his mouth.  The sound of Zevran's moans of pleasure.  Tara tried his best to imitate what Zevran had done to him, moving his tongue over the head of Zevran's cock while he carefully sucked on the shaft.

"Ah," moaned Zevran, and said something that Tara didn't understand.  Zevran pulled away, and drew Tara's face back up to him, kissing the mage's soft lips while his hands ran down the soft body.  He lifted Tara in his arms, and Tara instinctively settled his legs around Zevran's hips without breaking their passionate kiss.  Zevran lay down on the bed again, the movement pressing his cock against the soft, wet entrance to Tara's body.  Tara jumped at the contact, his cry of surprise lost against Zevran's lips.  Zevran's kiss was demanding, insistent, and Tara let himself sink into Zevran's arms, let Zevran push his legs back a little farther, let Zevran press the head of his thick cock against his body until it entered him.

Tara winced slightly, and dug his fingers into the muscles of Zevran's arms.  Zevran continued kissing him fiercely, moving just the head in and out, to let Tara get used to the sensation.  Tara moaned softly, trying to figure out what he was feeling.  His body was hot, hot all over, hotter than he had ever been before, and he was very glad that they were both naked.  He could feel wetness starting to seep from his body where Zevran was thrusting in and out.  With each stroke, he could feel more of the moisture leaking out as Zevran continued teasing him.  Tara arched, trying to raise his hips so that Zevran could get deeper inside him.

Zevran laughed.  "You want more, mi amor?" he whispered, and without waiting for an answer, sank his entire length into Tara's soft, sweet body.  Tara's cries of pleasure were all the encouragement he needed to do it again, drawing all the way out before sliding back into Tara's heat again.  Zevran made sure each stroke would make contact with the little nub of pleasure inside Tara's body, then began seriously working himself in and out of Tara's tightness.  The little mage cried out helplessly, writhing under Zevran, trying to get satisfaction without knowing what he was doing.  Zevran held him close, let Tara sink his teeth and nails into his skin while Zevran continued to drive in and out of his body.  He could feel Tara's orgasm building as he worked his cock inside the hot, wet channel, and Tara's muscles began to spasm and clutch wildly at him.  Zevran kissed him again, holding Tara in place while the slender body beneath him shuddered and shook in the throes of his first orgasm.  Zevran smiled as he felt Tara's cock shooting slick wetness into the space between their bodies.  Tara gasped, then whimpered in soft protest as Zevran moved inside him again.  "You enjoyed that, mi amor?  Now, it is my turn," Zevran growled softly.

Zevran rolled over, holding Tara in place on his cock, so that he was on his back with Tara straddling him.  Tara whimpered slightly at the feel of Zevran's cock moving inside him as Zevran's hands held him in place.  Zevran thrust up, making Tara moan as his body sank back to the bed again.

Tara gripped Zevran's hands, letting Zevran support his weight as he rode on Zevran's cock.  He had forgotten that they weren't alone in the house, and didn't hold back the passionate noises that Zevran's thrusting drew from him.  He looked down curiously, and watched Zevran's thickness disappearing into his body.  The sight left him breathless, or perhaps it was the motion of Zevran's cock inside him.  Tara threw back his head, panting in time with Zevran's thrusts as he felt himself getting hotter again.  He heard Zevran growl, and felt Zevran's cock begin pulsing, and knew that Zevran was coming.  Tara cried out again as he felt his body respond to Zevran's orgasm.  He swayed slightly, and somehow felt himself safe in Zevran's arms.  Tara wrapped his arms around Zevran's shoulders with a soft sigh.

"Lovely."  Zevran lowered him to the bed.  He bent down to kiss Tara again.  "You are mine, mi amor, yes?  Mine to pleasure and enjoy."  Tara smiled at him, as if laughing at some secret joke, and Zevran kissed him, suddenly fierce and possessive again.  "My lovely little mage," Zevran whispered softly.

Tara woke up to someone knocking on the door.  He sat up a little, but Zevran was lying across him and he didn't want to wake him.  "Who is it?" Tara called out.

Leliana opened the door a crack and peeked into the room.  "I guessed from the quiet that you two were finally done," she smiled.  "I thought he would never finish.  Typical Antivan."

"Did you need something?" Tara blushed.  He would have pulled the sheets up but they were all on the floor.

"Alistair says that you two need to get cleaned up and come downstairs because the village wants to thank us."

"Can't they do that in the morning?" grumbled Tara, then glanced at the window.  "Oh, it is morning."  He blinked in confusion.  "How long were we – I mean, dawn was just breaking," he stammered.

"Antivan stamina," grinned Leliana.  "Anyway, there's water here for you to wash off, and Morrigan made some breakfast if you're hungry."  She smiled sweetly and closed the door again, but not before he heard her exclaim to someone outside, "Oh, he's so adorable!  Did you see him?  He was blushing!  Everywhere!"


End file.
